I can almost hear Kivuli scolding me, her words about power and how it invites trouble, but I try not to appear weak or frightened.

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm too tiny not to appear weak or frightened. The captain might be twice my height, and it's a very different experience looking up at his face now, rather than looking down at him from the back of Rory's wagon.

He looks angry. His mustache looks angry, and it twitches with disapproval as he glares. I can't tell if he's looking down his nose at me or if it's just the height difference, and I'm sweating even more, wondering if he recognizes me. A moment later, he says, "The High Priest of the Gilded Church would like to have a word with you."

My heart thuds with a glimmer of relief; I'd been afraid he'd call me a witch and there'd be trouble if he remembered I was the girl with the Shaman last night. "Sure," I tell him, my mouth dry, my hand wishing it had the handle of Bluebell's wagon to squeeze. I thrust my hands into my pockets instead, but then I wonder if that's too meek a stance and I take them out again, letting them dangle awkwardly at my sides.

The captain doesn't notice or doesn't care. He walks back to the carriage. One of the unicorns scratches the dirt, and sunlight glimmers across their shiny coats like the surface of the sea. Their golden manes flow gently in the breeze. The captain knocks on the carriage side, and up close, it really does look like a fancy egg with enormous wooden wheels. He pulls one of the dark blue curtains aside to reveal a dark entranceway.

Then he turns to face me again, stamps his feet together, and salutes. "You are in the presence of a High Priest of the Gilded Church. It is my honor to announce High Priest Dagmus D. Sulliver. All hail!"

"All hail!" echoed the other soldiers who salute as well.

Sulliver?

A wooden staff emerges from the carriage. Fixed to the top is a large golden sphere that oddly resembles the carriage with its blue gems, but the wood is warbled and twisted. The staff looks like two branches snaked around one another. The arm holding it is draped in an oversized dark sleeve.

With a series of clicking noises, stairs descend from the carriage, and a giant, no not a giant, he's just a humungous man, steps out of the carriage and straightens up. He must've been ten feet tall. He’s just as round as the carriage. Even as he descends the steps, the staff tapping on each one, he only seems to get larger and larger. How did he even fit inside?

A black tunic goes down to his feet, the loose cloth flowing around his round belly. His form looks kind of muscular, his shoulders are wide and powerful, but his abdomen is egg-shaped. Long, curly white hair trails down to his shoulders. A thick and unruly beard, as white as his hair, clings to his jaw, giving him the appearance of a great philosopher.

As he approaches me, the ground quivers. Daylight dims as though a cloud has blocked the sun, but the sky remains blue and empty. Disgust and dread cling to my ribs. Panic threatens from the corners of my mind. High Priest Dagmus gives off a sickly, overwhelming aura.

The golden orb of his staff glints and shines. Woven into the High Priest's collar is a golden strip of cloth that's similarly reflective, and now that he towers over me, I can see his sparkling, golden eyes. The way he looks at me reminds me of a large beast sizing up its prey, calculating how to take what it wants.

Behind the priest, the carriage stirs again, and three women flutter out. In contrast to him, they're tiny, about my size, but they're draped in silky white, the long cloths trailing across the ground behind them. It's a wonder they're not tripping all over the place. They're covered from head to toe, their faces too, so that only their eyes, expressive and wide, are visible through a slit in the cloth. Flowery golden circlets sit on their heads like wreaths.

The women stare like I'm the oddity, and they're not the ones who are nearly completely hidden from view. Their white dresses flow loosely, but every time the wind blows, and with every step they take, the cloth sticks to their forms, and I can tell that they're slender and graceful and that one of them is pregnant. They stop behind the priest and bow their heads in unison, light shimmering along their halos, and announce, "We are here to witness His grace."

Behind the trio of covered women, the soldiers bow their heads and lower their rifles. Their mustached captain does the same, and I can't help but wonder why they do that. Aren't they security? This priest guy seems so important, and maybe there isn't much risk of harm here, but isn't this way too lax? Shouldn't they at least be alert and ready, keeping watch for any potential dangers from every direction?

Or did the priest not need any? When I squint at him, I don't see even a hint of light. The blue washes over everyone else, shimmering curiously green on the women, but on the priest... it's an absence of light. An emptiness, like he's not even there. Again, I feel that crawling, cold and damp feeling. I blink the light away and stare.

"Young lad?" he asks in a rich, booming voice. He sounds ancient. Powerful. His curly white beard bounces as he talks. "You must be the new mayor."

Wait, did he just call me a young lad? I can't quite speak. My legs are shaking too much, but I don't think he can tell. I feel so small. So small and frightened; when I'd faced the evil spirit before, that had been scary but Kivuli was with me. Now I'm alone, and there's something so off about this priest and the way he's staring at me. A golden glint in his eyes, like he's going to try and sell me something. I know I need to respond, but all I manage to do is shake my head.

He raises a thick eyebrow. It's so bushy and full, but it gives his eyes a sinister, beady appearance. Nothing at all like the friendly bushiness of Bluebell's. "Have I been misled?" he says, a hint of stern disappointment sharpening his question. "Are you not the mayor?"

"I am the mayor," I say, pausing to take a deep breath and puff out my chest, as though if I can act like I believe what I'm saying, then it might be true. But it is true. I really am the mayor. "But I'm not a lad. I'm a woman."

Frowning, the priest squeezes the golden knob of his staff hard, his knuckles straining against this ashy, pale skin. His beard twitches. "I beg your forgiveness then, Madam Mayor. You have my deepest apologies. Though... do you often dress incorrectly?"

Incorrectly?

His beady eyes go down to my pants, my tucked-in shirt. I guess I don't fit the part of a proper lady in this world, but who is he to say incorrectly? The urge to bury my hands in my pockets hits me again, but I force myself to inhale and appear open and calm, not at all like I want to hide.

"It's comfy," I tell him.

My answer doesn't please him. His face hardens and he squints like he's scanning my face. Can he read my abilities somehow? Does he know I don't belong here? Does he know I live with Kivuli as her apprentice? I know what his Church thinks of shamans, what they think of witches. I don't want to get Kivuli in trouble, and just as I'm about to say something, to ask him what he wants, he sniffs.

It's a deep, ugly sniff that twists his lips and curls his mustache and beard like he's snorting the air. A wretched, wet sniff, and he holds it for a moment before hawking up phlegm and spitting. He sounds like my mom used to in the mornings after drinking too much. And the way he's looking at me like I'm a choice cut of meat on display, eyebrows raised, lips curved with the hint of a menacing smile... A prickling sensation squeezes my throat; I have to get out of here. I have to stay away from him. Revulsion threatens my insides, but I have to be brave. I have to be straightforward. If he sees that he's rattled me, I lose. Customer service. This is just customer service. I can do this.

"Why are you looking for me?" I finally manage to ask. Then, adjusting my hat, I add, "I'm new to this mayor thing, but maybe I can help."

Damus makes a sound like hah!, as though I can't possibly be any help to him, but he muffles it with the back of his wrinkled hand. "How old are you, girl?"

Oh, it's girl now is it? "I'm old enough."

"Have you bled yet?"

"Excuse me?" I bite the inside of my lip to keep from swearing. "Why should I answer that?"

"It's important," he says, clasping his staff with both hands and straightening up as though he was about to give a sermon. He looks like an egg that might topple over with a push. "It distinguishes you from child to woman. It encapsulates your ability to function as a grown, dutiful member of society."

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My skin crawls, not because of what he'd said, but because a wave of cold washes over me. I look past him at the three women, my eyes going to the pregnant one’s protruding belly. Alarm bells go off in my head; a familiar cold feeling shivers across my face. It's not the sweet refreshing cold of snow. It's dread. It's the eerie, uncomfortable cold of Evil Spirits; the same cold I'd felt emanating from Rory's father before we’d helped him.

Suppressing another shudder, I squint at the Priest's eyes, searching for any sign of possession. It doesn't make sense. He wouldn't be able to talk if an Evil Spirit was inside him. His beard twitches as he waits for my response.

I shake my head, feeling too exposed. "I'm not answering that."

He strokes his beard as though he's sizing me up and deciding for himself. "Very well, child. I seek you out today on two matters of great importance."

"Oh, I'm sure they're very important."

One of the soldiers flicks up, his face red with anger. The three women gasp, their eyes still wide, almost like they're too afraid to make any other expression. If their mouths are open, I can't tell behind their coverings. The mustached captain won't have any of it though. "You will address the High Priest with due respect."

An apology almost bubbled out of my lips, but I catch myself. I don't blink. I don't back down. I just wait for the priest to continue. I'm shaking. But they don't need to know that.

The priest takes a breath and adjusts his grip on the golden knob of his staff. He's a mountain of privilege; there's no need to apologize to people like that.

"The first thing," he says solemnly. "Now that the town once more has a mayor, the Gilded Church again requests land to establish a chapel here. A Father will be assigned, working immediately under me, and our patrons will rejoice in having sanctified ground near the harbor."

"You want to build a church here?" Why does he need permission for that? I scratch my nose - a nervous tick, whenever I'm confused, it itches. I guess I have the final say when it comes to building things, but why wouldn't the church swoop in and construct something when the town didn't have a mayor?

[Quest Available: A Sacred Duty to the People?]

Years of resting bitch face comes in handy, but sweat runs down my back. I don't want him to know the question is in my head, though I'm sure he already does. There must be something in his head too, but without my acceptance, without my approval as mayor, he can't do anything about it. That gives me a strong bargaining chip; all I have to do is not appear weak.

Breathe.

How can I use this? I'm so new to all this, but the town clearly needs more money. The buildings need to be repaired. The roads. If this is a port town, shouldn't it be booming? Shouldn't there be shops and trading centers with goods and things from all over this world? Maybe in exchange for a church, we could ask for enough money to make meaningful changes, and maybe do something about these elves.

But what would we lose? Would I be selling the town's soul?

As though reading my mind, he speaks about the advantages of his request. "The Church will of course pay its proper dues, but we shall be exempt from taxation of any kind. This means money for reconstruction, security for the town, and a shining beacon of guidance for all."

Proper dues? Exempt from taxes? How does that add up?

He's speaking like a politician.

"And believe you me," he says gravely. "Protection will be paramount going forward, child. Our Church will provide personnel and safeguard from Elven threats and from any other threats that should arise. We will strengthen your town. Your economy. Your livelihoods. All shall be right and prosperous under the Gilded One's Light."

I can feel the town watching me; I wish I could ask them for their thoughts. Do they want the Church here? But then why do they seem so afraid? Why did people hurry indoors? Shouldn't they be happy to see a priest? These guys literally paraded up the main road, but there were no shouted blessings and prayers, no rejoicing. Isn't that what religious people do?

I can't make any decisions right now. "What's the second thing?"

He purses his lips like he'd been expecting an answer to the first request immediately. He strokes his beard, but nobody else moves a muscle, and I hold eye contact with his beady, gross stare. I'm sure he expected me to say yes. After all, who'd refuse the church? Obtusely religious people tend to think they're always right.

Clearing his throat, the Priest twists his staff into the dirt. "The second matter concerns Church property. We have growing concerns that one of our belongings has made its way here and we humbly request its safe return to our hands."

"Church property? I think you'll have to be clearer." I cross my arms, aware that I'm taking a defensive stance, but it's too late now to uncross them. I don't want to see fidgety.

Ugh. I hate this. And what could they be missing anyway? Who'd steal something from these people and all their soldiers?

"A Lashfarnen girl and two offspring," he says. "She has stolen something belonging to the Church and should anyone be caught harboring them, they will be held accountable to the full degree of our law."

Offspring. Not daring to breathe, forcing myself to remain calm, I try my best to appear neutral. As though I have no idea what he could mean. "What happens if I say no?"

"I will have to stress the request again, child. These are pressing matters. A carriage was inspected leaving Blossom Water yesterday, and no ships have arrived or departed. Our investigations lead us to believe that the woman is here, and we request authorization to search the premises. Otherwise, we will have to take more forceful action."

Oh, he's threatening me. I shrug. "I haven't seen anyone like that here."

"Forgive me, but you are new to the town. We are told your mayor situation changed only yesterday." He surveys the building around us, as though he could see through the walls.

I glance at the three women, my heart skipping a beat, wondering if they counted as church property as well. My mind whirls. "Yes," I say slowly. "Maybe that's what your reports messed up. A strange woman showed up in town, and that would be me, right? And I'm not Lashfarnen. Maybe the person you're looking for went somewhere else."

"So, you are refusing our right to search each building?" he asks in a low voice, an ugly growl beneath the question.

"I don't think you have that right," I tell him, raising my head. How did it go with cops? Show me a warrant before I open the door? "Everyone has a right to privacy, don't they? These are their homes and places of business. And as you can see, people have work to do, and the person you're looking for isn't here." So fuck off.

The Priest's posture shifts. His eyebrow twitches, and I can tell, I can just tell, he wants to strike me. He wants to throw something at me. And it takes so much effort to keep from glancing at the Grocery. But I stare right back, hoping I look as defiant as I feel, channeling confidence I'm running out of. I'm not going to waver. I have Snowstream Bear DNA inside me. I could smack his head off if I wanted to. I remember the weight of those claws. And the priest wouldn't be so big if I transform. A heavy wind rushes down the road, and I hold onto my hat.

"Very well," he says after a while. "So you are refusing to meet us on all accounts?"

"No," I say. "Just the second one. The first one, about you guys building a church here, I'll have to think about that."

"Think about it?"

"I want to ask everyone if they want you here."

The notification pops up in my head, and my chest swells with renewed confidence:

[To Earn the Right of Representation: 23%]

I'm doing the right thing! I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep from smiling.

"Of course, the people want us here," says Dagmus with another angry growl. "It's the Light of the Gilded One!"

"Yeah, but I can't make that decision right now." And the light of the gilded whoever doesn't mean much to me, and I especially don't want them here if they consider Yura and her children as property. I don't know her exact situation or if she did steal something from them, but there's something wrong with this man and this church, and I don't want them to find her. I want to turn him down completely, but if I say no outright, he'll get suspicious that Yura is here.

"I will return," he says gruffly. "With a battalion. And then we shall discuss these matters further. It would be suitable to consecrate land for a Church before the End of Storms Festival." He strokes his beard again and begins to turn. Then he pauses and raises his staff, sunlight shining off the golden orb at the top. "And should we find any evidence of our property in your hands or anyone's, little Miss Mayor, be sure there will be dire consequences."

I want to snap back. To say something clever to shut him down. He's threatening me again. He's threatening everyone. But instead, I relax. I ease my face and put on my best customer service smile, the smile I'd perfected for rude people who always insisted I made their drinks wrong back in the shop. "Have a wonderful day."

He makes a throaty sound of annoyance, glaring at me, staff still raised, and again I get the sense he wants to hit me. But instead, he lumbers away. The women wait for him to walk past, all three of them staring at me, their heads cocked curiously. They turn with a swish of their white cloths, their hips swaying, and follow him into the carriage. The pregnant one holds her belly, and she’s the only one to glance back at me before climbing the steps. Sunlight shimmers across their headpieces before they follow Dagmus inside the egg-shaped carriage.

The chill evaporates from the air. Warmth returns to the wind, and the pit of uneasiness relents. Even the town seems to brighten, and I sigh with relief. I can breathe again.

The mustached captain's lips are twisted in disgust. I nod, and he shouts something at the other soldiers. They all do an about-face as the unicorns trot around, pulling the carriage away from town. The soldiers march behind it. I don't know if I should feel bad for them. They have to escort that oversized priest around. Do they feel how cold he is? That disgusting aura? Doesn’t it bother them?

But as my adrenaline fades, I falter. I rub my face with my hands. I can't do this. I can't be mayor. I'm not strong enough.

The town's people emerge from their buildings, from the shadows. Their faces are grim, but a few nod politely in my direction. One of the well-dressed women smiles, but that quickly fades as she follows the other women, hurrying up the road to where a Kaballus-pulled wagon is parked by the tavern. I spot Sal leaning against the entryway, cleaning a mug with a towel. He raises it as though he's toasting me.

"Come on in now," says a familiar rough voice behind me, and I turn to find Granny, her meaty arms crossed as the last of the soldiers march out of town. "Dangerous times."

My legs have turned to jelly, as though I'm stuck mid-transformation into a slime again, but I follow her inside the Grocery, grateful to be out of the sun, away from all the people looking at me. Once inside, I hear sucking noises coming from the corner, past all the stands with fruits and spices and near the table where Granny had been cutting meat. Granny's lips are pressed tight and she mutters something about the poor girl being petrified, and that's when I find Yura sitting on the ground.

She holds her baby to her pink chest, her gray dress open so that the baby can nurse. Her boy sits beside her, grabbing onto her knees like her leg is a liferaft, his eyes wide with terror. Yura's hand is clamped firmly over his mouth, and she's shaking. Tears stream down her cheeks as she stares at nothing. Her lips move almost silently, repeating the same words over and over: I'm not here right now. I'm not here right now. I'm not here right now.